


A Most Efficacious Treatment

by Ella Minnow (anomieow)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, CDV stands for Charles the Dirty Voyeur, Dubious Consent, Facial, M/M, Medical Kink, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Shame Edward Little Power Hour, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomieow/pseuds/Ella%20Minnow
Summary: But the funniest thing about it was how once you smelled it, its scent lingered in the nostrils, and one kept inhaling hungrily almost as though to chase it down as it was drawn further into one’s system. One felt slightly euphoric, but clear-headed. Then a day later, its secondary effects kicked in and those—Goodsir had never seen the like. Priapism, initially, then a crawling fever and... unseemly urges. That was the primary symptom. For the first two days, the ships had nearly fallen apart with a lack of discipline and routine.Even the captains took to Fitzjames’ berth together and did not emerge for some six hours, Fitzjames’ hair uncharacteristically mussed and Crozier’s lips swollen from hard use, his face flushed—but they were both clear-eyed, and were able to authoritatively issue the following edict: that, in order to neutralize what was fundamentally a medical threat, the ships’ doctors would treat the afflicted with the same straightforward efficiency with which women were sometimes treated for hysteria.
Relationships: Charles Frederick Des Voeux/Harry D. S. Goodsir, Harry Goodsir/Lt. Edward Little
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	A Most Efficacious Treatment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Poose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/gifts).



“I do not think that necessary, Mr. Goodsir,” Stanley says, his starched voice slicing through Goodsir’s fevered reverie. With a start he snatches his hand back from the lean buttock of Lieutenant Edward Little, who regards him with slowly mounting panic. 

“I’m—sorry,” he stammers, and then draws a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

“As consoling as Lieutenant Little must find being groped prior to what will no doubt be an exceedingly humiliating ordeal, it is hardly part of an efficacious treatment. Step aside, if you would.”

“I’m fine, I assure you, I just need a moment to—rest.”

Behind him, Charles Des Voeux, clear-headed after completing his own treatment, sniggers. Stanley levels him with a stare and turns back to Goodsir. “Do you require another treatment yourself?” He asks disdainfully.

“No,” Goodsir says, flushing. “Perhaps after. He is the last, is he not?” 

“For the moment.”

“And is Mr. Collins—“

At this, Edward whimpers involuntarily. 

“Shh, shh—“ Goodsir steps forward to stroke Edward’s hair. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. If you’ll just ... relax ... ah, there we go.” Goodsir strokes the inside of Edward’s thighs until he reluctantly parts them as much as he’s able, his trousers pulled down as they are to his ankles. He buries his face in his crossed arms and tries to ignore his needy prick leaking into the space between his belly and the table. 

How it had started or where it came from, no one could say. Most blamed a strikingly colorful bit of lichen Goodsir had brought aboard. It had a faint, novel scent of carroway, young apple, lilac. It was a bit like a perfume but too rawly like earth. Diggle suggested using it in a pot of soup but Goodsir, grown strangely protective of it, anxiously refused. But the funniest thing about it was how once you smelled it, its scent lingered in the nostrils, and one kept inhaling hungrily almost as though to chase it down as it was drawn further into one’s system. One felt slightly euphoric, but clear-headed. Then a day later, its secondary effects kicked in and those—Goodsir had never seen the like. Priapism, initially, then a crawling fever and... unseemly urges. That was the primary symptom. For the first two days, the ships had nearly fallen apart with a lack of discipline and routine. 

Even the captains took to Fitzjames’ berth together and did not emerge for some six hours, Fitzjames’ hair uncharacteristically mussed and Crozier’s lips swollen from hard use, his face flushed—but they were both clear-eyed, and were able to authoritatively issue the following edict: that, in order to neutralize what was fundamentally a medical threat, the ships’ doctors would treat the afflicted with the same straightforward efficiency with which women were sometimes treated for hysteria. While it had been successful to an extent, the threat was an uncertain and unpredictable one. Some men, like Dr. Stanley, could be cured by a quick and simple frigging, usually administered by Charles Des Voeux, who lingered in the sick bay as though hoping to be called upon for help. As he sometimes was—to help restrain Solomon Tozer, for example, who required more extensive treatment than most men, perhaps because of his robustness and virility. 

Lieutenant Little was another patient whose treatment required a more involved strategy. Simply put, he was one of a handful of cases whose symptoms—mental feebleness, an hysterical mood, dangerously high fever—were allayed only by prostate stimulation in tandem with the more direct approach. What variable it was that contributed to these more unique cases, Goodsir wasn’t certain, but he found them far more satisfying to treat. This is what he’s contemplating as he runs one delicate finger lightly down the cleft of the Lieutenant’s ass, eliciting a satisfied sigh and a further relaxation of the man’s trim, muscular legs.

Goodsir can’t help but reach into his own trousers in the same way a hungry enough dog will bite anyone. 

“You’ve the wrong prick there,” Des Voeux teases. 

Stanley’s gray gaze is flinty. “Stand down,” he sighs, annoyed. “I must, apparently, do the worst of the work myself. Mr. Des Voeux, please administer treatment to Mr. Goodsir. Here will be fine. It may—improve the Lieutenant’s morale, or at the very least distract him.” 

Goodsir is led around to the front of the table by Des Voeux, whose gaze rakes over him with all the affection of a cat regarding a cornered mouse. “I think I’ll strip you,” he says.

“That’s not at all necessary,” Goodsir stammers, crossing his arm over his chest as though he were nude already. 

Stanley nods once. “I am curious if it will aide the treatment of Lieutenant Little,” he explains to Goodsir, who stares numbly back at him as Des Voeux’s fingers set to work at his layers. Between the warmth of the five men—Des Voeux, Goodsir, Stanley, and Edward, as well as Collins noisily snoring in a hammock in the corner—and the fever, the room is warm and chill at once. His body is taut, attuned—as intricately sensitive as a tuning fork. Then Des Voeux’s grimy, small hand is on his cock, working it with the tight, drawn-out motion that Stanley has deemed most efficacious.

———

Only dimly at first is Edward aware of Goodsir being stripped a foot from his face, but when he does look he sees him in exquisitely sharp focus—how has he never noticed before how handsome he is, the lovely thick pelt of hair on his belly leading to his straining, flushed prick? Toward this he unconsciously strains, saliva pooling at the back of his mouth. “Please,” he murmurs, for in that moment he’s never wanted anything more than to swallow Goodsir to the root, inhale the earthen odor of the nest of hair there. 

“Now, Lieutenant,” Stanley murmurs, “there’s no reason for that—we’re to be as efficacious as possible.” 

“Nah,” Des Voeux says, letting go of Goodsir to shake his hand out, “might give my hand a break.”

Stanley’s gaze is thoughtful, cold. “Very well. Please be quick.” 

“You don’t have to do this, sir,” Goodsir says. “It is not necessary—“

“Don’t you want me to?” Edward asks, wounded. 

“I do not think, if you were well—“

“I’m not well,” he answers swiftly. “None of us are well.” Still, a deep shame wells in him: he should not want this so desperately—to be used, degraded—even by someone as kind as Goodsir. Tears prickle the edges of his large, dark eyes as Stanley unceremoniously thrusts one thick finger into Edward’s hole, grimacing with distaste as he does so. But he finds he doesn’t mind even the searing pain as Goodsir steps forward and feeds his elegantly trim prick into the lush heat of the lieutenant’s open, impatient mouth. 

“Oh!” Goodsir gasps, as though startled. “Oh—Jesus, oh, pardon the—oh, sir, that’s—Jesus Christ—“

“This your first time?” Des Voeux asks casually, his hand working at his own flies. (It is, but that’s none of his business, so Goodsir stays silent.) 

Stanley glances pointedly at Des Voeux; specifically, at his hand moving in his pants. “Is that therapeutic, Mr. Des Voeux, or?”

“It’s preventative medicine,” the sallow-faced little man grins.

Goodsir tries to ignore it, just as he tries to ignore the vision of Edward—that is, Lieutenant Little—humping back and forth on Stanley’s confident hand, three fingers in now, and his own bobbing prick. For he doesn’t want to spend too quick; he doesn’t want this to end. But then Stanley seizes on Edward’s prostrate and savages it and Edward cries out, back arched—it’s pain, Goodsir knows first hand, a sort of dazzling billowing pain that can’t be picked apart from pleasure—but what’s animal in him receives it as invitation, as permission: and he spends, arc after arc (for curiously, the volume of ejaculate is increased, somehow, which—) well, never mind, for Edward’s face is strewn with it, brow and cheek and chin, though his open mouth took most and he’s savoring it now, licking it from his lips and rolling it on his tongue like fine scotch. Eyes half shut in an ecstatic stupor. Then he drops to his belly and humps once, twice, against the coarse-sheeted table and spends, locking eyes with Goodsir as he does so.

“Oh, do move,” Des Voeux says, grinning. “It’s my turn.” 

Edward grins, closes his eyes, and lets his mouth fall open. 

“I do believe, Mr. Goodsir,” Stanley muses, sounding almost elated, “that we’ve found a most efficacious treatment to add to our arsenal.”


End file.
